


Alpha-Omega

by johnsarmylady



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comedy, M/M, Multi, observation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-11 13:21:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnsarmylady/pseuds/johnsarmylady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to a series of 221B one-shots, featuring all or any of the characters from Sherlock, some in character, some not. There will be various relationships - established or otherwise. Written in the downtimes between chapters of other fics they are a collection of oddities. Please enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alpha - Alpha

“Look Sherlock,” Lestrade was at his wits end “you can’t just burst in uninvited onto our crime scene! We have forensic scientists….”

“Oh! Do you mean Anderson? And do you expect him to solve the crime for you?” Sherlock sneered, which just made the Detective Inspector angrier.

Stepping between the two John held up a placating hand.

“Ladies please, there are ….um….ladies present.”

The two detectives looked at him, one still angry, one puzzled. He cocked an eyebrow in the direction of Sally Donovan – unfortunately Anderson happened to be standing next to her at the time and he could hardly contain his anger.

“I thought better of you….” He started to say but John interrupted him.

“No, no you didn’t. In fact Anderson I’d go as far as to say that you’ve never once thought anything at all about me.” He stood, perfectly relaxed, staring almost insolently at the blue clad scientist.

“Ignore him.” Sally’s voice dripped acid “He’s as bad as the freak!”

“Better as bad as a freak than as pathetic as an old maid!”

Lestrades mouth opened but no sound came out. Sally almost exploded. Anderson was apoplectic!

“I think we’re done here” John said.

As they walked away Sherlock studied John thoughtfully.

“You just deliberately wound them up.”

“Yup!” John smiled a crooked little smile

“Why?”

“Bored!”

 


	2. Beta - Beautiful

These feelings were so alien to him.  He had been married for God’s sake, he was straight…..or was he?

And who in their right mind would fall for such a machine? Well, you couldn’t really call him a man could you – he is cold, without feelings, so why this obsession?

They sat opposite each other talking, yet he had no idea what was being said – his eyes were fixed on those lips, thinner and less defined than his brother’s, no less tantalising.

And those eyes!  His own moved upwards to look into the cool depths of those eyes that saw everything.

He suddenly felt as if his soul had been laid bare.  Were his feelings written in his face, his eyes, there for this man to see?  Would he understand?

Then he was speaking again. Sorry?  Come back later? Oh, of course! He rose to his feet and left, worried now that the other man was offended.  He knew his feelings had been as obvious as if they had been written in indelible ink across his forehead. 

It was dark when he returned, the object of his obsession stood by the window. Beckoned forward he went and stood at his side, waiting.

Suddenly he felt those lips capture his in a chaste kiss, and all at once the world was beautiful!


	3. Gamma - Ghosts

They are almost ethereal, ghosts moving through London’s streets hidden from prying eyes by the mere fact that they are so very commonplace.  Nobody takes notice of them unless they force their presence on the unsuspecting passing pedestrians.

They see everything that happens on their patch, their habitat, a place where they reign supreme.  And they know everyone that passes through, by sight or sometimes by name, often by their generosity but more frequently by the cruel rebuffs received when these wraiths venture out to show themselves.

One man dared to get to know them.  There was no doubt that he used them, and that may have appeared to be the cruellest trick of all, but in truth that one man was a man of honour.  He made them his eyes, in places where he couldn’t travel, where he was well known and feared for the trouble he could bring.

And this man of honour brought another to their ranks.  This other helped them, healed them when they were sick, taught them how to better take care of themselves.

He asked once, this other man, “Why do you pretend?”

The man of honour answered “Caring is a disadvantage” and he looked around at these ghosts of his underworld London, adding “But without my eyes on the streets I would be blind!”


	4. Delta - Demons

_He could hear them, their claws scraping across bare floorboards, ragged breath rattling in their throats. He felt the heat of their bodies as they surrounded his hiding place, felt the movement beside him as the gigantic paw reached for him……_

Sitting bolt upright in the bed John pressed one hand against his chest as if to still his hammering heart.

“John?”

John’s head was bowed, his shoulders slumped, and he drew a deep shuddering breath. 

Sitting up, Sherlock pulled the shaking man into his arms, drawing him back down under the covers.

“You’re safe now, John”

The blond head shook, the blue eyes that looked up into moonlight silver ones were filled with fear and pain.

“They never leave me alone!” it was a despairing whisper.

“Shhhhh.” The arms tightened, soft lips caressed the cool forehead, moving down to kiss those beautiful blue eyes closed. “I’m here John, I’ll keep you safe.”

A small hiccupping sob escaped from the smaller man, and he burrowed against the warm slender body beside him.

Gentle fingers traced circles over the tense trapezius muscle, gradually increasing pressure until the tension seeped away.

A small contented sigh escaped, and Sherlock, pleased, wrapped himself around his lover, holding him safe and gently rocking him. 

Finally at peace they slept, a tangle of limbs among the bedclothes.


	5. Epsilon - Elegant

As brothers go Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes don’t have much in common apart from the obvious – their keen intelligence – but they are both undeniably elegant in their own way.

Mycroft is classically elegant, and that is only to be expected of the man who embodies the British Government. His immaculately cut three piece suits are the envy of many a cabinet minister, the shine on his handmade leather shoes puts the Koh I Noor diamond to shame. Even the way he holds his umbrella, swinging it forwards with an elegant flick of his wrist so the metal ferrule taps the ground. And those unfortunate enough to encounter his sneer of disdain would tell you – no one does it as elegantly as Mycroft Holmes!

On the other hand young Sherlock takes elegant to a whole new level.  His unruly black curls flop elegantly in Byronesque imitation and his impossibly slender limbs in close fitting clothes topped by that long black swirling greatcoat complete the overall picture or old world romantic elegance, the wildness of Heathcliffe and the impossibility of Dorian Grey rolled into one.  And if you were to ask any of those unfortunate enough to encounter his pithy comments they’ll tell you – even his insults are elegant!

And at times John Watson, much put-upon doctor, could cheerfully strangle both elegant bleeders!


	6. Zeta - Zabaglione

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one was an attempt to meet a challenge from AlessNox on Mrs Hudson’s Kitchen Forum to showcase a particular food type and its preparation.   
> Thanks to Nigella Lawson for inspiration and the recipe!

The flat was quiet and empty. John carefully unpacked the new electric whisk with a pleased smile; he’d been looking forward to trying out Nigella’s recipe for Zabaglione al Prosecco.

Checking that his eccentric flatmate had not used all the bowls and saucepans for experiments he gathered up his ingredients, rolled up his sleeves and set a heatproof bowl over simmering water. 

He whisked the egg yolks and sugar together, watching in fascination as it increased in volume – he felt quite pleased with himself. Sherlock will enjoy this; he really has such a sweet tooth and a taste for posh desserts!  The mixture in the bowl started to bubble and froth up. John turned the whisk speed down from high to low but the food had gathered a life of its own!

Frantically looking at the recipe on the table top beside him he scanned down the preparation method – yes, it should be very frothy but….  

John was wondering whether this was actually a good idea when Sherlock came softly into the kitchen, Mrs Hudson following close behind him.

“What’s that?” Sherlock spoke, his voice suddenly close behind Johns’ right ear.

“Jesus!” John jumped, his thumb hit the high-speed button, and zabaglione splattered all over him

Mrs Hudson looked him up and down then pointed down the hall. “John Watson – BATH!”


	7. Eta - Expressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Especially for my good friends Ennui Enigma and MapleleafCameo – who will understand why I’m crying with laughter!!

John had meant it when he told Mycroft that he was never bored – even on days when he had nothing to do there was always something to keep him amused.  He sat in his armchair opposite Sherlock nursing his mug of tea and surreptitiously studied his flatmate.

Sitting in his chair Sherlock opened a file that Greg had left with them yesterday, his eyebrows drawn down in a deep frown. John knew the exact moment the consulting detective spotted something interesting, as his right eyebrow rose almost to his hairline.

John chuckled.  He hadn’t meant to, it just slipped out.  Sherlock heard it though, he looked across and his left eyebrow rose to join the right, playing in the errant curls on the younger mans’ forehead.  John wished his brain would shut up, as the thought of Sherlock’s eyebrows playing in his hair made him chuckle harder, and the more he tried to stifle it the worse it became.

Huffing angrily Sherlock returned to the file, and that right eyebrow, fed up with playing now slid back down into half-frown mode.  Almost of its own volition the left brow scuttled back down – it was a veritable Mexican wave!

He tried to keep it in – really he did, but it was no good! John laughed so hard he thought he might burst!


	8. Theta  - Tension

It had been one of those cases – the kind that had them running all over London. 

This one had ended in the sort of Mexican stand-off that John really hated. He stood, arm extended, gun pointed unwavering at the head of the call girl who had been responsible for four gruesome murders.  It wasn’t just that he hated taking this threatening stance against a woman; it was that this particular woman had her gun pressed hard against his lover’s head.

He took the momentary panic that shot through him as he looked into Sherlocks calm and trusting eyes, and turned it into the promise of certain death for this modern day Lady Macbeth. She saw that, saw it in his eyes, and lowered her gun in defeat.

In the cab, John had rolled his shoulders trying to relieve the tension but it wasn’t working.  Once in the flat Sherlock pushed the smaller man towards the bathroom.

“Get a shower John, the hot water will help ease those muscles.”

 “Good idea.” John smiled.

The hot water was wonderful as it ran down his well-defined torso.  As he stood enjoying the sensation he heard a movement, felt the air stir as his beloved stepped in behind him.

 Soap-slicked hands with slender fingers massaged his shoulders, and Sherlock leaned in close and whispered “Better?”


	9. Iota - Insecure

Mrs Hudson was very fond of her friend Marie next door – just not so fond of her taste in gifts! 

There had been the fake statue of Anubis that hadn’t even come from Egypt, it had ‘Made in Hong Kong’ stamped on the base!  And the huge wooden…..THING!  Marie said it was a musical instrument – Sherlock had laughed and pointed out that it wasn’t exactly a Stradivarius – it resembled a giant hollowed out coconut with strings and took up far too much room on her shelf.

There had been a variety of scarves and sarongs that the longsuffering landlady had absolutely no use for and even a cardigan in a hideous shade of puce!

Worst of all though was the horrible looking half man half monkey that was the currently gracing her mantlepiece.  John had looked at it in horror, before asking Mrs Hudson why on earth she had a statuette of Anderson, Sherlock picked it up and looked at it from all angles before declaring he’d never seen such an ugly piece of art. Putting it back down, he didn’t realise how insecure it was, balanced just on the edge of its polished wood resting place.  As he moved his hand though it slipped, there was a crash, and Sherlock looked up guiltily.

“I've...” Sherlock cleared his throat. “It's broken.”


	10. Kappa - Killers

John, that way!” Sherlock shouted as the pair burst into the odd complex of offices pointing down a narrow corridor leading away to the right, while he himself flew down to the left. The killers had split up and were making it difficult to keep track of where they were.

 John took off at speed, hoping to catch up with the man who had gunned down the young Police Constable when he tried to arrest him. 

Sherlock’s long legs carried him closer to his quarry, he could see the fleeing man’s coat tails as he sped around the corner, and it spurred him on to run faster.

John heard his partners cry, somewhere off to his left, lost in the maze of rooms and hallways and he skidded to a halt, torn between trying to catch the gunman and finding out what the other had done to elicit such a sound.

In the distance he could hear the wailing sirens of Lestrade and his officers – much needed back up!  He took off again, this time in the direction of his flatmate; after all, they knew who the killers were.   He saw Sherlock sprawled on the floor – he didn’t see the ominous black box……

The last thing that was heard from the inside of the building was a loud and fearful bang…….


	11. Lambda - Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't leave this guy out of it........

Anderson never believed he could feel this lonely.  His damned wife had gone off to her bloody sister’s again, and he had hoped Sally Donovan might keep him company, but it was not to be. 

As they settled down to a cosy night in with a take away and a movie Sally’s mobile rang, and although she was apologetic she had to run!

Heaving himself up from the rather pretentious red velvet chaise longues that his idiotic wife had insisted would look tasteful in their lounge, Anderson sighed. He cleared away the left over biryani and tried to re-cork the bottle of Pinot Grigio, hating the fact that he was doomed to spend another night on his own.

The film was put regretfully back into its box, there was no point in watching it now – not without Sally. Who’d have thought he would actually enjoy rom-coms, and he really did!  But only with the dusky skinned, sharp tongued Detective Sergeant.  She made him feel like it was normal to want to laugh without constraint at the daft antics of the characters on the screen, not caring who heard and certainly not caring what other people thought!  Sally liberated him in ways that his wife never had, never could.

He would never have believed that being lonely could feel so very bad.


	12. Mu - Mine

John was furious to say the very least!  Once again Sherlock had taken himself off after a couple of villains, and once again here he was with blood seeping into his torn clothing and refusing vociferously to go to hospital.

Silently John eased him down onto the couch and gently peeled away the material sticking to the slashed flesh. It was fortunately not a deep wound, and John set about cleaning it with antiseptic and cotton swabs.

The cold liquid stung on contact with his skin and Sherlock hissed and tried not to flinch. John flicked his gaze up to the younger mans’ face.  Satisfied with what he saw he continued working calmly despite the mixture of fear and anger he had felt when his friend had staggered injured through the door of their flat.

Satisfied too that he had ensured there would be no infection he proceeded to close the gash with a row of very neat stitches, his hands sure and rock steady. Keeping his head down he concentrated hard on not hurting the man who lay unnaturally still under his ministrations.

“It belongs to me – you have no right to damage it Sherlock, it’s mine!” the words were whispered so softly that Sherlock wasn’t quite sure he’s heard correctly.

“What’s yours, John?”

Blue eyes met grey.

“Your body!”


	13. Nu - Nothing

John hadn’t expected help from that particular quarter, and when it came he felt unaccountably guilty, as if he was being just a tad disloyal to his best friend.

Mycroft sat in Johns chair, right leg crossed over left, nonchalantly swinging his foot in a lazy rhythm.  He knew it would irritate his little brother, but not by even the merest flicker of expression did he let that knowledge show.

“Now Sherlock,” Mycrofts cultured voice was at its most persuasive, “John tells me you’ve eaten nothing for over two weeks…”

“John can keep out of my business!” came the scathing retort.

“Yes John can” that longsuffering man spoke up “Except that it’s generally me who picks up the pieces when your body can’t cope with being starved any longer and leaves you practically comatose wherever you fall – last time it was in Lestrades office!”

“And just think if it were to happen when John isn’t here – how would poor Mrs Hudson cope?”

Sherlock scowled. Mycroft raised a well groomed eyebrow. John just rolled his eyes and went to put the kettle on.  At least his flatmate was still drinking, he wouldn’t dehydrate.

Surprisingly Mycroft followed him and leaned on the kitchen table.

“There is one thing John, something that Mummy always used to tempt him to eat”

John waited.

“Digestive biscuits.”

 


	14. Xi - Xenophobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xenophobia – an irrational fear of foreigners or strangers……

Sherlock lay on his bed, listening to the man in the room upstairs muttering in his sleep. Another nightmare maybe? He could hear him calling out, warning someone – who?  Putting his book down he sat up and strained to hear.

“No….no….you can’t let them in!  You don’t know them, they might….” What they might or might not do was lost.  Sherlock rose and pulled his blue silk dressing gown on over his jersey pyjama bottoms, intending to go and wake his flatmate.

Creeping up the stairs he heard more frantic shouts now – warning someone against letting the strangers in. He paused outside John’s door, unsure.  This didn’t sound like his usual war-related nightmare.  Uncharacteristically undecided Sherlock stood there a while longer, until he realised that the shouts had quietened back down to muttering, and John no longer seemed to be thrashing about.  

Returning to his room he lay back down on top of his bedcovers contemplating the ceiling.

A short while later a different sound disturbed the silence, the sound of bare feet padding down the stairs to the kitchen.  Sherlock rose again and walked softly out of his room to stand in the doorway, watching his friend make a cup of tea.

“John?  You okay?” he asked quietly

“Yeah, okay.” The doctor confirmed, smiling slightly. “Go back to your book.”


	15. Omicron - Outcast

“You don’t understand John!”  It was almost the cry of a wounded animal, and John Watson felt an icy hand clutch at his heart.  He moved from his chair to the couch, sitting close to his friend, his lover.

“Then tell me.”

The curly head shook, and slim artistic hands covered the downcast face.  Gently John pulled the hands away so that Sherlock was forced to look at him.  Quicksilver eyes, bright with tears yet dark with the pain of remembrance met the compassion in the doctors blue eyes, and it tipped him over the edge, the tears spilled, and he clung to John like a drowning man to driftwood.

John gently stroked the dark head nestling against his chest, feeling the tears soaking through his shirt.

“Tell me.” He whispered again.

“They always leave, no-one ever stays.”

“I won’t leave you Sherlock, why would I?”

“You’ll find someone else, I know you will. I’ll be on my own again – outcast”

If it hadn’t sounded so desolate John would have laughed at the overly dramatic statement. He slid his hand from Sherlocks hair, stroked down his cheek and cupped his chin, firmly tipping the tearstained face up to meet his kiss.

“You’ll always have me Sherlock,” he whispered softly when they finally came up for air. “You just have to believe!”


	16. Pi - Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remembrance and regret……..
> 
> A/N: Inspiration for this 221B came in the shape of a line from a poem.   
> “The pain comes billowing on like a full cloud of thunder” — From A LAST CONFESSION by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828 – 1882)

It shouldn’t have happened, and he knew it shouldn’t.  For all his intellect, his knowledge, his power, he was duped into believing what he did was for the good of the all – Queen and Country, wasn’t that the phrase? How his brother would have sneered!

Moriarty may have been a madman, but he was so clever.  Matching Sherlock measure for measure, but where Sherlock was, in his own way, a force for good so Moriarty was pure evil.

Mycroft shook his head. The world had looked in the face of evil and been taken in, fooled by the angelic countenance presented as the innocent victim in Sherlocks web of deceit, when all the while there was corruption within.

He had been taken in. He had sold his brother’s soul for a secret with no substance, a non-existent code.

Now the world was a far less vibrant place. For all his dark moods Sherlock Holmes had been a firefly, a will-o’-the-wisp flitting from murder to robbery to kidnapping and back again bringing the brilliance of his great brain to bear in the darkest corners and lighting them with his deductions.

No more.

For Mycroft now the pain rushed in like an unwelcome storm in summer.  He should have been there to protect his brother, to keep him safe, not be his betrayer.


	17. Rho - Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shameless slash, Sherlock's POV

It never worried me, that John’s shoulder was scarred.  It was testament to the bravery of the Army Captain, the tenacity of the Army Doctor.  The man I know would suffer this and more in his quest to protect and save others – even me!

I suppose it bothered me more that it bothered him.  He would never look at that scar, although he never tried to stop me looking it’s true. And even in the earliest days of our relationship he allowed me to touch and taste and feel the pale and puckered skin where the bullet had exited his shoulder, to run my tongue along the ridges left by the surgery he had endured.

That was why I decided, selfishly maybe, that he must learn to see it the way I did – as a badge of honour.  So I uncovered the full length mirror that often doubled as somewhere to hang my clothes, and when he returned from his shower, towel around his hips, I moved him to stand before it.

Standing behind him I bent my head, kissing along the top of his shoulder, flicking my tongue across the scar, watching him watching me, seeing his arousal becoming obvious.

I looked up at our shared reflection in the mirror, and gave myself up to the delicious sensation of butterflies…..


	18. Sigma - Saturated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place between Study in Pink and The Blind Banker.

“Why couldn’t John be here?” there was frustration in every line of Sherlocks hyperactive body and he strode up and down the crime scene, oblivious to the torrential rain that was slowly saturating his clothes.

“What’s the matter Freak?” Sally called from the shelter of her large umbrella “Need him to tell you how brilliant you are?  Feeling unloved?”

Sherlock turned to snarl at her but Lestrade stepped between them.

“That’s enough Donovan” his voice harsh as he reprimanded his officer. Then turning to Sherlock he continued “Since when do you need John with you?  He’s just your flatmate.”

“No Lestrade, he’s more than that!”

A wolf whistle sounded, but although Lestrade was quick to look around he couldn’t see the culprit. Taking a deep breath he looked again at the younger man, trying to fathom out what the problem was.

“Can I help?”

Sherlock stopped and stared. “What do you think you can do?” he was genuinely puzzled, and his puzzlement deepened when he realised Lestrade was looking somewhat hurt by his question.

“I suppose,” came the quiet reply “I could ask the same about John.”

“But he’s my assistant, he could hold an umbrella for me!” came the unexpected response and Lestrade looked, really looked, at the consulting detective, noting for the first time that he was positively bedraggled.


	19. Tau - Touched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One woman held in her hands the power to stop the world for three friends and a brother…

She offered to help, how could she not? She had spent enough time wishing to be more than just his procurer of spare body parts and now, as he looked down into her eyes, pain and sadness radiating from the depths of that piercing grey gaze she knew she would do anything – anything at all – to take those feelings away.

So she offered.

“What do you need?”

And he answered.

“You!”

She felt tears form in her eyes, saw tears in his, and she knew in that moment she could deny him nothing.

She was nowhere in sight when John came back, while they sat there in the lab, as John finally dozed off with his head on his arms.  No-one could have known that it was her on the other end of the phone, her voice hoarsened and muffled so that John wouldn’t suspect that it was anyone other than the paramedics alerting him to the plight of Mrs Hudson….poor Mrs Hudson. Although she wasn’t hurt, not yet, she would be. Maybe not physically but they all would be – John, Mrs Hudson, Detective Inspector Lestrade, even Mycroft.

Unfortunately for Molly Hooper, although she was touched – deeply touched that he trusted her to help him – what he was asking her to do chilled her to the very core of her being.


	20. Upsilon - United

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An abstract look at the Holmes boys.

It doesn’t happen often, but when it does even the most hardened criminals tremble. 

It is bad enough to discover that you are being investigated by Sherlock Holmes, to have those bright intelligent eyes looking at every facet of your nefarious activities, but when you step over the line and attract the attention of the other Holmes…….

On the surface an indolent yet powerful man, Mycroft Holmes is more used to giving orders than being part of the solution – that requires legwork! – but know this, he is not a man to cross lightly. 

If you should find yourself in a position to watch the two, as those great intellects circle each other, vying for supremacy, you will see that it is not mere competitive spirit that pits them one against the other. At times it is akin to hatred.

It is, however, futile to believe that the enmity each brother feels for the other will work in your favour, for in their minds the thrill of the chase is as much about their individual strengths as about the infinite possibilities of those strengths combined.

Like many other villains you might believe that these two would never stand united, but in doing so you will make the biggest mistake of your life, because when all is said and done, they are brothers.


	21. Phi - Packing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally written as part of this series, this chapter can also be found as part of the work "Crashing Down", an extension written at the request of several reviewers on FFNet

Sherlock pulled on his coat and stormed out “…don’t be here when I get back!”

John stared, stunned, at the closed door.  As arguments went that was spectacular, but the leaden feeling that settled in the blond doctors’ stomach told him this was not going to blow over in the same way all the others had – for starters Sherlock had never told him to go before, never been quite so cold, so harsh, so very hateful.

Swallowing against the tears that threatened to overwhelm him he drew himself up and straightened his shoulders.  It was over, that much was obvious. Sherlock no longer wanted him; he certainly didn’t need him – if indeed he ever had.

Looking around the bedroom he realised there was very little in it that was truly his, just his clothes and a few items that Sherlock had bought him, like the moleskin covered journal, and the elegantly understated Parker pen that belonged with it.  He added these to the clothes in his old army kit bag, picked up his wallet and coat, and went in to the kitchen.

Pulling the flat keys from his pocket he left them on the table, then took his last look at his former home. The tears fell now.

As he left he pinned a single word note on the door.

‘ ** _Bye_**.’


	22. Chi - Cheekbones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their relationship – Johns POV…….Shameless slash again I’m afraid!

I still find it hard to believe that I’m with Sherlock – well, I think I’m still coming to terms with the fact that when I found the person I really wanted to spend the rest of my days with it turned out to be the self-obsessed git that is my beautiful sexy genius flatmate!

It still makes me chuckle when I think about the first time I actually admitted that I loved him – I thought he would run a mile, was convinced I’d ruined a good friendship, but he just looked at me, smiled – and I melted! I don’t think I’d seen such a beautiful smile before.

He’s a considerate lover and that surprised me too. Loving instinctively, eager to please and be pleased, if a case has been particularly good he can be quite inventive - suffice to say we’re never bored!

And if I’m totally honest with myself there’s no-one else in this world or the next that I would stand here waiting for, in the biting winter winds, watching as he deduces yet another crime scene, watching as the cold turns those gorgeous cheekbones a dusty pink.

Ah, he’s finished now, smiling as he walks towards me, opening his long coat and wrapping it around me, pulling me into his warmth, holding me in his strong arms, bliss!


	23. Psi - Phantasmagoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phantasmagoria –   
> a. A fantastic sequence of haphazardly associative imagery, as seen in dreams or fever.  
> b. A constantly changing scene composed of numerous elements.

John tried to keep up with the ever changing landscape but his mind couldn’t move fast enough.  One moment he was cold and damp, running through the trees at Dewars’ Hollow, but as he turned around (to look for Sherlock?) the Afghan sun almost blinded him, and he felt the heat on his skin, the hot winds searing his lungs.

“Where are you? Sherlock!” The arid climate made his throat hurt as he called to his missing friend….

Sherlock leaned over the bed at the sound of John’s hoarse whisper, but saw no recognition in the glazed eyes.

“I’m here John”

 Whipping his head round at the sound of the familiar voice, he stared up at the roof of St Bart’s, it was painfully familiar. He caught sight of his reflection, dressed in army fatigues, standing in the road.

“Why am I here?”

“John, you have a fever” Sherlock couldn’t keep the worry from his voice. 

Usually so strong, so sturdy, John had fallen victim to pneumonia. He’d never seen anyone deteriorate so quickly, and against his principles Sherlock called an ambulance.

Despite his dislike of the ‘business’ side of hospitals, when they admitted John, Sherlock would no more leave his friend than cut off his right hand. He hoped that together they could defeat this most intractable of villains, bacteria.


	24. Omega - Omega

The house seemed unusually quiet as John climbed the stairs to the flat.   Pushing through the door his nose twitched – there was a kind of electrical ‘smell’ in the air.

John looked round into the kitchen. The table was covered with wires, batteries and electrodes.   Sherlock’s high-backed stool was overturned, and Sherlock himself sitting on the floor clutching his head.

“Jesus Sherlock!” he exclaimed, dropping down beside his friend and gently feeling around the large bump on the back of his head.

“Ow!”

“Sorry.  Can you stand?”

“Hmm.”

Taking that as an affirmative, he helped the younger man to his feet and settled him in the living room.

John stared down at Sherlock. His friends pupils were normal and reacting well to light, but he was uncharacteristically subdued, which gave the doctor cause for concern about the possible after effects of the head injury.  Sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch he met the detective’s pale gaze.

“Can you recite the alphabet for me?” he asked.

“ ** _Really_** John?”

“Ah…. the Greek one.”

Sherlock stared at the doctor, momentarily speechless, then with a sigh he began.

“Alpha beta gamma delta epsilon zeta eta theta iota kappa lambda mu nu xi omicron pi rho sigma tau upsilon phi chi psi omega.”

John’s face lit up with an admiring smile. “Brilliant!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What started as in-fills when the main story wouldn’t come became a personal challenge to write a 221B chapter for every letter of the Greek alphabet and finish each one with a different ‘B’ – I think that’s CHALLENGE COMPLETE! Thanks for reading!  
> JAL x


End file.
